Prison Snatch Page 3

  Tiny-mouthed bitches.

  Sometimes he wanted to unhinge them shits open by breaking their fucking jaws.

  “Open wider,” he warned, pushing the head of his dick between her lips.

  Nervously, she opened wider and he slid inside. He was dangerously thick in her mouth, and his shaft—oh so rigid across her lips. “Shiiit.” His breath rushed out in a long hiss. He felt her trembling and stood still, offering her a chance to get her head game right.

  “You better not gag or throw up on my shit. Or you going to motherfuckin’ lockup tonight.”

  She looked up at him and nodded. And then closed her eyes taking him back inside her mouth, while she silently prayed that he wouldn’t try to fuck her with all this beer-can thick dick. The thought alone motivated her to suck him as if her life depended on it.

  And, sadly, in more than one way . . . it did.

  “Hold that shit like an ice cream cone and lick it,” he rasped. “Eat that dick up like you love it.”

  Like a good little dick sucker, she did what she was told and licked around the head of his dick, then lapped over the tip, taking away the precum that gathered there, her eyes falling shut as the taste on her tongue made her mouth water, and her pussy swell.

  She ran her tongue over his dick once again before swirling a wet lick around the entire head.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” he whispered, holding her face and stroking her cheek with his thumb. He surprised her with his gentleness, then he suddenly shook her from the illusion when he roughly yanked her hair back, his dick plopping out of her mouth and then slapping the heavy width of his dick across her mouth and face.

  “Stick that tongue out.”

  She did and he slapped his thick cock all over it—until spit juice splashed off it, before ramming it back into her mouth. Her face flushed with heat as he muttered and cursed low above her as her head and mouth moved back and forth, rapidly sliding over his shaft.

  “Yeah, you little naughty bitch. Uh, yeah . . . grab them balls.”

  She reached for his nutsac and timidly fondled them. They were big. Bigger than any balls she’d ever played with. Grown-man balls, full with lots of grown-man nut.

  She was only twenty-three, not that experienced—and nowhere near as freaky as some of her friends back home in Boston. They’d been fucking since they were thirteen, fourteen. And yet she hadn’t lost her virginity until she was eighteen.

  And she’d only been with two guys—her age, of course—before she’d been arrested, charged, and brought to Croydon Hill for her part in two bank robberies in Jersey. One bank, down by the shore. The other bank, up in Teaneck.

  That was three years ago.

  So whatever she knew about sex, she’d learned from her exes—or from reading erotic books. But, now, here she was. Her knees pressed deep into the tiled floor, her mouth stuffed with big, thick grown-man dick. She moaned in spite of her fear lingering in the back of her mind that Sergeant Struthers could make the next twelve years of her bid a nightmare.

  She knew, had heard, from other inmates what he was capable of. That alone frightened her. But he’d promised her fifty dollars’ worth of commissary if she took care of his dick right. She needed that commissary. She had nothing. So sucking his grown-man dick was worth it. She’d hang from a ceiling fan if he wanted that too.

  “Squeeze them shits,” he breathed out, pulling her from her reverie. He pulled his dick from her mouth, holding it up in his fist by the spit-shined head, the shaft moving upward to lift his balls to her mouth. “Spit on ’em.”

  She did.

  “Now lick ’em.”

  She did that too. Then sucked them into her mouth on command. A dick puppet, that’s what she’d become. Another tear slid down her face.

  “That’s right. Cry, bitch.” He grunted, yanking his balls from her mouth, then repositioning his dick to her lips. “Look at me, you little street tramp.”

  Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

  “You like sucking this fat Daddy cock, huh?”

  She nodded.

  “Show Daddy how much you like it then . . .”

  He palmed her face again and fucked her mouth hard, mercilessly, until her chest tightened and she was breathless. “Aah, fuck yeah. Suck it,” he growled.

  She opened wider, as far as her jaws would allow, then swallowed as the head of his dick brushed the back of her throat.

  “Breathe through your nose,” he coaxed. And she inhaled deeply through her nose. “I’m almost there. You want this nut?”

  She knew to nod, so she nodded. Then moaned over his cock.

  “Then swallow, fuck-face,” he commanded. “Relax your jaw. And swallow with the thrust.”

  She cringed inwardly as she took heed—and gradually his dick slid in and out of her mouth with ease, rasping over her tongue. Spit splashed out of her mouth, then slid down her chin.

  “F-f-uuuuck,” he gasped out as a slight spurt of heat hit the back of her throat.

  She moaned and swallowed, then kept greedily sucking him.

  “Yeah, that’s it, you greedy little cum slut. Swallow that shit.”

  He palmed her head like a basketball and grasped the base of his dick

  “Hold still, fuck-girl,” he said hoarsely. “Where you want this nut? Ya mouth?”

  She nodded.

  He grunted. Squeezing the top of her head, he snatched his dick from her wet, sloppy mouth and began jerking at his dick in rapid back-and-forth motion, its head slapping over her swollen lips—until a hot jet of cum shot into her eyes.

  She shook, shutting her eyes as the thick cream coated her lashes, blurring her vision. He grunted again, his hand jerking over his incredibly thick shaft as he aimed another spray of his nut into her face. The creamy load slid down her nose, then dropped from her lashes.

  Satisfied with his liquid paint job, he trailed two fingers over her face, collecting his cream. Then he held them to her lips.

  “Open your mouth.”

  He smeared cum over her lips, then scooped more of his nut onto his fingertips and slid it over her tongue. “Suck it,” he said huskily.

  Her mouth closed over his fingers, and she tasted his musky essence and sucked at his fingers until he’d finger-wiped her whole face and fed her every drop. And then he slid his still-hard dick back into her mouth and pumped away until another nut flooded the inside of her mouth.

  Her jaws burned. Her knees ached. But, she was surprisingly wet. And almost willing to let him fuck her too—if he wanted pussy too.

  He stepped back, his limp dick flopping out of her mouth. She eyed him through cum-coated lashes as he stuffed his sticky dick back into his underwear and zipped his pants.

  She quickly stood to her feet, then took the wet rag he handed her and washed her face. He waited until she was done, then reached for the two Burger King Whoppers and large fries sitting on his desk and handed them to her.

  “Now get the fuck out,” he snarled.

  FOUR

  Only the Strong Survive . . .

  “Don’t eat my shit. Don’t touch my shit. And don’t say shit to me unless I want to be bothered with you.” Contempt coated the brown-skinned inmate’s words like crackling fish grease. She stood in the middle of the cell in a white sports bra and men’s white boxer shorts.

  Heaven blinked.

  She’d just stepped into the cell, and hadn’t expected to be greeted with such disdain. She’d been in lockup—or the hole, as they called it—for the last sixty days for slicing Snake’s face open over on 3 West. And now it seemed as if everyone over here was having a problem with her since the notorious bully had had her face split open to the bone, and a part of her ear sliced off. One hundred and fifty stitches later.

  The woman stood in the way as Heaven tried to get to her bunk. Clearly, she’d been waiting for her. Wanting a confrontation.

  Heaven held her breath. She didn’t think she could do this. This, this . . . general population shit. She could alr
eady tell she would have problems over here. And the whole idea of having to constantly watch her back was a bit daunting. She’d either have to get off this housing unit or she’d end up back in solitary.

  Lockup seemed like a much more suitable choice. At least down in the Dungeons (what the inmates called solitary confinement since it was housed over in another section of the prison where you had to walk through a long, winding tunnel to get to), she didn’t have to deal with this type of shit. She was housed in a single cell, and showered alone.

  At least with being on twenty-three-hour lock, she didn’t have to deal with anyone, other than the guards who had to do their mandatory thirty-minute tours or pass out food trays with whatever inmate worked kitchen detail, or when the COs had to let her out for her daily hour.

  During which time she came out to shower, and, maybe, write a letter. She was only allowed to make collect calls once every fifteen days (which she never did). And she didn’t have access to a television, so she’d usually shower for twenty minutes or so, then return back to her cell to read a book. One of the female officers, Ms. Kimberly, was always nice enough—any time she worked overtime on that unit—to pass down her books after she’d finished reading them herself.

  But now—mmph.

  She’d have to share a cell with this cranky bitch. And be stuck using a shower with at least sixty other women over on this tier. She wasn’t sure how this was going to work for her.

  At least her time over on 3 West, as short as it had been, felt more like being at a country club compared to this shit she was currently assigned to. 4 East. The moment the housing officer had clicked open the door, she’d felt like she’d walked into the hood.

  And she had.

  4 East was clearly one of the prison slums. Every other female she’d seen in the day space had looked impoverished. Dirty. Trashy. Prison misfits. Junkies and ex-addicts surrounded her. Many appeared to be women who looked like they’d been around the block a few times. Others appeared to have spent the majority of their lives lying on their backs, or from being down on their knees tricking.

  She hadn’t meant to pass judgment, but she didn’t feel comfortable being around all these derelicts. She already knew the moment she ordered her canteen, her shit would get stolen. And, the last thing she was going to do was sponsor a bunch of broke-down bitches.

  Heaven inhaled and blinked in the grim reaper. She hadn’t done shit to this bitch, and here she was already on the defense barking orders. Heaven bit her tongue, though. She didn’t want any problems. But she wasn’t going to let this broad punk her, either.

  She was doing her bid, alone. She had no friends here. Well, fuck. She really hadn’t had any friends on the streets, either. Not any that she could honestly say she trusted, or knew would have her back.

  She took another deep breath. “I’m Heaven.”

  “Bitch, I know who you are,” she said nastily. “You the uppity bitch who cut my girl in her face. Try that shit over here ‘n’ you’re gonna end up with your throat slit, and your guts spilling out ya ass.”

  Heaven cringed. “For the record. I didn’t just up and cut your so-called girl. She stepped to me trying to get up in my pussy. I wasn’t interested. And when I asked her nicely to leave my cell, she refused. She put her hands on me, first. So be clear.”

  Hand on her hip, the menacing inmate snarled, “Bitch, for the record. I don’t. Give. A. Fuck about what she did to you, first. She ran shit over there, like I run shit over here. Period.”

  Heaven ran her tongue over her teeth. All she wanted to do was brush her teeth, and shower. Not argue. “Listen. I don’t want any problems with you. But, do me a favor. Please. Don’t call me a bitch.”

  “Sweetie, you over here in my space. I’ll call you what I want. I heard all about you. Some uppity bitch, who thinks she’s better than the rest of us. Bitch—yeah I said it. And what?” She stared Heaven down. “You ain’t no different from anyone else; your ass is in a jumper with a state number like the rest of us. So that makes you a convict like the rest of us.”

  Heaven took her in. A platinum bob of hair brushed along her jawline. Her lean, toned body reminded Heaven of a dancer’s. And though she had acne, she was still pretty. Pretty rough, that was.

  Mindful not to touch her as she stepped further into the cell, Heaven sat her meager belongings, all neatly wrapped inside her bed sheet, atop her bunk, then smoothed nervous hands over her jumper pants.

  She didn’t want to be in this cell with her no more than she wanted her to be. That was the only thing they clearly had in common. Still, she wanted to be civil. Or at least, pretend to be.

  “Keep your shit over on your side,” her new cellie snarled. “And if you snore, I’ll smother ya ass in your sleep. Got it?”

  “Then I guess lucky for the both of us, I don’t snore,” Heaven replied lightly.

  The inmate swung her bob. “No, bitch. Lucky for you.”

  Heaven scowled.

  This shit was not going to work. And she was not sleeping in the same cell with this roguish bitch. Period. So before she went off, she politely snatched her shit off the bunk and proceeded out the cell.

  “That’s right ho, step!” the inmate spat, causing a few inmates within earshot to laugh. “Before you get stomped out.”

  “Coletta, you know you wrong for that, girl,” someone said. “Chasing that stuck-up ho out your cell like that.”

  “Girl, fuck that bitch. She ain’t welcomed up in here!”

  “I know that’s right,” someone else said.

  Heaven heard them, but refused to give any of them a second glance, even though she knew she should probably pay closer attention to her surroundings, in case one of them hoodrat bitches tried to attack her from behind.

  Let ’em try it!

  Admittedly, she was still trying to figure out the dos and don’ts of prison life, but one thing she was sure of: whatever the pecking order, she was not about to be that bitch at the bottom of the rung getting pissed and shitted on.

  She tossed her hair—real hair—and stomped down the stairs.

  Some of the female inmates sitting at various tables in the day space stopped playing their card and board games, mesmerized by her. Others eyed and tapped their homegirls gesturing with their heads over at Heaven—a few even whistled and suggestively flapped their tongues—as she marched her way over to the housing officer with her belongings in tow.

  “Um, excuse me, CO,” she said politely as she reached the desk.

  The light-skinned woman, with the yarn twists in her hair, sitting at the desk ignored her as she wrote in the logbook.

  Heaven glanced at the female officer’s nametag. “Excuse me . . . Miss O’Neal. I don’t mean to bother you, but—”

  “Then don’t,” the CO replied.

  Heaven narrowed her eyes. “Well, I have a problem.”

  “Back up away from my desk,” O’Neal barked without looking up at her. Pen poised over one of the pages in her logbook, she waited for Heaven to take a step back. Then asked, “What’s your problem?”

  The CO not once looked up at Heaven, and Heaven thought it rude.

  Bitch.

  “The problem is: I need to be moved from off this housing unit. Now.”

  The CO finally peeled her eyes from the logbook, and slowly slid her gaze up to meet Heaven’s hazel eyes, taking in her reddish-brown skin. Oh, this Indian-looking bitch right here thinks she’s all that, the CO thought as she tilted her head.

  The CO smirked, raising a brow. “And where exactly would you like to move to, Your Royal Highness? The Omni? The Waldorf?”

  Heaven stood unmoved by the CO’s sarcasm. “I don’t care where you move me, ma’am, as long as it’s out of here.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said, closing her logbook. “I’ll get right on it.” She reached for the phone. “Let me see if the lieutenant can send over your glass carriage.” She slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “Not. Now go take your ass back up to your
cell. And get the fuck away from my desk.”

  A few inmates sitting within earshot overheard the exchange and laughed. And in turn, Heaven steadied her breathing. She dug her long fingernails into her bed sheet. Her nails had grown dangerously long during her time in lockup, and she hadn’t had a chance to trim them.

  Heaven dropped her belongings on the floor. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to speak to someone above your pay grade. Please and thank you.”

  The housing officer blinked. “I just gave you a direct order, Inmate.” She stood up. “Now move the fuck away from my desk. NOW!”

  Heaven sucked her teeth, snatching up her belongings. “Bitch,” she mumbled under her breath as she stalked off.

  “What the fuck did you call me?” the housing officer called after her.

  Heaven kept walking toward the stairs.

  “Get her, Miss O,” someone said in back of Heaven. “That ho know she don’t want it with you.”

  The housing officer grunted. “Mmph. You know that’s right. I know if that bitch hadn’t moved the fuck away from my desk, I was about to put my foot in her neck.”

  “Ha! Miss O, you shoulda dragged her ass,” another inmate said.

  “Who that bitch think she is, anyway, Pocahontas?”

  “Mmph. She cute, though,” another inmate said loudly. “But I bet her drawz real nasty. Y’all know it be them real pretty ones doin’ the least to keep them drawz clean.”

  Laughter roared around the day space.

  The housing officer eyed Heaven as she made her way back up the stairs, then reopened her logbook and went back to writing in it once Heaven reached the third floor.

  Several inmates snickered as she walked by. A few others grunted.

  Coletta, who had been watching Heaven the whole time, turned from the railing and leaned her back up against it. Arms folded, she smirked. “Well, look what the cat dragged back. Little Miss Uppity. I guess you couldn’t swing your hair and bat your lashes to get what you wanted, huh?”

  Heaven ignored her, stepping back into what would become her nightmare if she didn’t do something. She tossed her belongings up on the bunk, then began tightly braiding her long black hair into two thick braids, while Coletta and her tier cronies cackled and loudly talked shit about her.